Of Tables That Turn
by Neferit
Summary: During their Wandering Days, hobbits are turned away from the gates of Erebor for being "weak and pathetic", continuing their Walk until they reached the Shire. Now the dwarves are searching for a new home, as the Lonely Mountain had been taken by Smaug. How do the tables turn... Kink meme fill.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Written for a prompt (that had been shortened, because there are just so many nice bonuses):

_So at the beginning of the Third Age, the hobbits begin to migrate. The reasons for this happening are unknown, but suspected that this was due to the rising evil in Mirkwood. We're going to say it was DEFINITELY because of shit going down in Mirkwood. The first place the hobbits thought to turn to was Erebor. They were turned away for being too soft and having no places amongst dwarves. (They were also turned away from other settlements, resulting in them being distrusting of the other races.) Thus their Wandering Days continued until they came across the Shire. A looooooong time later, Smaug attacks Erebor. No help comes from the Elves, and the Dwarves become a wandering race. They hear of a prosperous land full of kind, soft people and decide to head towards that. Thorin, as the leader of a lost people, decides to have a meeting with the Thaine and whoever else important enough in the Shire to talk about settling near Hobbiton or Tookborough since their home was taken by Smaug._

Oh my, how do those tables turn...

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my cup of coffee and my very own Ring of Power. Oh, and also Viola Whitfoot, since she is going to appear here. Yes, I'm that obsessed.

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**Prologue: The Long Walk**

When our people left the land east of Anduin River, we had nothing except the knowledge that for the first time in countless centuries, we were alone and homeless.

It was Bowman's dream that one day we we would have our own homeland, where we could live as we chose. We hoped for help along the way, and asked for help countless of times - but to the neverending surprise of all of the hobbits, it was not the dwarves who would help us in the time of need, oh no. Instead, they shut their gates before us, refusing to help those who they viewed as weak and pathetic, who were unsuitable to enter their mountain kingdom.

Thus Bowman, also called Shapeshifter afterwards, vowed to find hobbits a new home, after they were turned away by many more settlements but the elves of Greenwood, and the elves of city of Rivendell, who taught us how to use bows and slings, and how to hunt for our food, so at least our children wouldn't starve while we pressed on, walking tirelessly towards the West.

But it would be unjust not to mention the only two dwarves who weren't indifferent to our fate; craftsman Ragri and his wife, a jeweller, Bolbari. They spent many a coin to ensure the hobbits had at least some food for the long journey West, wishing them all the luck in the world, refusing any thanks, claiming they only did what their hearts told them to. May their names are forever recorded in the Memories, and remembered till the end of the world.

We called our journey the Long Walk, for that was what it was. We walked with what little we had on our backs. Whole families, women with infants, the old and young alike-all of them made their way across the land on foot for we didn't had any beasts of burden. And if one of our people could no longer walk, we carried him, or sometimes left him behind, our heart heavy with loss of every single one of us.

And the Green Lady, Yavanna, rewarded those of us who did not waver by bringing us to the land of Shire. And since then, the Shire is our home, the one we fought to make fertile with the magic everyone's two hands could make, fighting to keep the dangers away, Bowman being the first of those we named Thains, every single one of us considering themselves adults once reaching 33 years of age, as that had been the age Bowman took the mantle of our leader.

Never again shall we be wandering aimlessly, our bows will be strong and our wills unbreakable. Never again will any of ours be left behind. Never again will we be at anyone's mercy.

Thus we swear.

- _From telling of Everard Bunce, recorder of Memories, chapter one of History of the Shire_


	2. One

**A/N:** And here we go again! Betareading done by magnificent _LavenderCrystalOfRoses_. Also, did I mention that this AU is getting out of my hands already (even if I have only about 4 chapters finished)?!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing - but hey, having things is _so_ mainstream!

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**One**

_"I do not hold grudges. I hold memories that keep me better prepared for our next encounter."_

- from personal journal of Bowman the Shapeshifter

**-o.O.o-**

It had been many years since Thorin led his people from burning Erebor, running from the dragon that took residence in their (now) former home. It was his father, Thror, who led them in the beginning, and the first place they sought out had been Moria, or Khazad-dûm, another of mighty dwarven fortresses, overtaken by orcs not that long ago.

Thror had believed they had the numbers (not to mention enough desperation to use instead of numbers) to take the great city back, and be able to return with dwarves who fled from Moria to Erebor not long before Erebor herself had fallen, but the fates thought otherwise.

They lost miserably at the battle of Azanulbizar, at the eastern gates of Moria, and were happy to retreat without any further losses.

That was when one of the elven messengers, alongside a group of healers, arrived to aid the battered dwarves, helping with the wounded.

"There are legends of small and peaceful folk far to the West," the messenger said, his eyes holding a gentle light to them, "Who live in a land of soft, rolling hills and rich fields. Maybe that is where you could look for a better fortune."

Thorin didn't say anything to the elf, only his mind thinking something along the lines of sodding tree-shaggers, who could stuff their recommendation to somewhere where Thorin would not be forced to see them.

But when he and all of the dwarrows crossed the Misty Mountains and another elf, this time from Rivendell, approached them with the same message (only to be rather rudely sent away), and a seed of doubt began to take its roots in Thorin's mind.

Maybe those peaceful and small folk would need protection, and would be willing to deal with them. Maybe the dwarrows could have home again.

Still, it took years before he and his people came even close enough to this...almost...mythical land, and when he, Dwalin and a small group of guards entered the forest that separated them from this land, they and² were in for quite a surprise.

**-o.O.o-**

They were walking through the forest for hours, when the piercing feeling of being watched settled between their shoulder-blades. Apart from the usual sounds of trees and animals, no other sound could be heard except when suddenly, a sharp twang announced an arrow being fired.

With the arrow came a warning:

"Halt! Step no further!"

A lone figure, smaller than any of the dwarves present, appeared from among the trees, bow pulled and arrow nocked. Thorin couldn't see the face of this person for they had their cape pulled down, but the voice was clear, and the figure had distinct feminine curves.

"Well," the figure said, her voice sounding distinctly amused. "What have we here? A group of dwarves, barrelling through the forest like high water, making enough noise for us to be able to make them into hedgehogs blindfolded. What is your business in the Shire?" her voice snapped like a whip. "If it is precious metals and gems you are after, then you better turn back and return to where you've came from. There is nothing of the kind in here."

For a moment Thorin had to fight off the urge to back snap at the woman in front of him, but Dwalin just shook his head slightly. Thorin sighed inwardly. If only anyone else were here – he was no diplomat, and everything seemed to be depending on how well he handled this encounter.

"I am Thorin, son of Thror, son of Thrain, from Erebor, and I come here to ask for help in…"

He was unable to finish for the woman before him lowered her bow, threw back her head and laughed. It wasn't mocking or even amused laughter, which was the only thing that stopped Thorin from pulling his sword (as well as the tiny sounds of arrows being nocked); it was the bitter laugh of someone who encountered irony and knew best how to enjoy it to its fullest.

"That's rich," the woman, whose face they finally could see clearly, as the cape fell down (she was rather pretty, if completely bare-faced, with wavy hair pulled into a loose bun, with piercing blue eyes). "When we came to the gates of Erebor, the gates were shut before us, for according to dwarves we hobbits were too weak and pathetic to be allowed to enter their halls, even if our elders and children had been dying out of cold and hunger before your gates. And now," those piercing eyes stabbed into his, "_now_ you have the guts to come here and request help?!"

And Thorin had absolutely no idea what the woman was talking about. This will be a very long, and very unpleasant talk, he was sure of it.

**-o.O.o-**

It showed he was right. The woman refused to say her name, or her rank, and instead she hissed the history of Long Walk at him, glaring at him the whole time.

"Who was this King Under The Mountain you are speaking of?"

"His name was not worthy of remembering. The memories didn't record it, just like it didn't record name of any of the dwarves, apart from two who were worthy of it."

They argued for quite a long time, and Thorin was losing even the precious small amount of patience he was known to posses, when the woman made a slashing gesture with her hand.

"Enough!" she snapped. "This can't, and won't be, decided here. Return to your people, Thorin son of Thrain, and come to the edge of the wood in the morning. You will be taken before the Assembly, and this matter will be solved there."

The woman turned her back at them, obviously uncaring of how bad it could end, before she stopped in her tracks and turned her head towards them. "If you wish to improve your chances of being heard, I suggest you search for descendants of craftsman Ragri and his wife Bolbari, and take them with you."

With those words, she stepped to the trees and with a blink it was as though she was never there.

"Let's return," grumbledDwalin, his eyes glued to the place the woman stood last. "We better look for these descendants before it's too late."


	3. Two

**A/N:** So, originally I wanted to wait until I have the betaread chapters back before I update - but then just couldn't wait, so... Here it is! Anyway, if you spot some error that just kicks you in the face, please, tell me, so I can correct it.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my cup of coffee.

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**Two**

_The Assembly of Representatives, as it is often referred to in official language, is – as the official name suggests – group of specifically picked people, who are deciding for the Shire as a whole; be it law, or relations with surrounding areas. _

_Being a picked Representative is a life-long commitment, or at least commitment for as long as a hobbit is able to work with demands of his position._

_The whole Assembly surrounds Thain; rank of Thain is hereditary, and after being passed down in Oldbucks it was moved to Took family, and had been there for almost a millennium. Thain has the power of vetoing any decision made by the Assembly, and return it to them countless of time, until he or she is content with the decision reached. Theoretically speaking, if the whole Assembly rules in accord, they can overrule the Thain, but such a situation never occurred._

_There always is a chosen Steward, who is making sure the Assembly is able to reach agreement in whatever issue they are working on. His function is to be a neutral member of the Assembly, and given his neutrality, he's not allowed to vote in decision making._

_Of others, there is Mayor of Michel Delving, Master of Buckland, Baggins of Bag End and Deshyr of Westfarthing. All those are hereditary, and if Steward is picked from among them, his position is passed on closest male relative, or – in case there is no male relative in direct line – to their female relatives, as well._

_The last, and not hereditary position in the Assembly is Commander of the Shire; position of great honour, as it is bestowed only to those who showed exceptional courage, as well as great skill with weaponry and in diplomacy, for Commander commands every hobbit capable of holding a weapon and often is the first one to meet with any stranger coming to the Shire. This position is mostly occupied by men, but during the history of Shire there had been two women in this place as well. _

_As all that is created by living creatures, even our Assembly has its flaws, as the Representatives may hold grudge or are unwilling to reach agreement with each other out of spite. Still, the Shire prospered under her Thain and Representatives and no one felt any need to change things._

- from_ Concerning Hobbits – a study of Hobbit Community _by Milo Proudfoot

**-o.O.o-**

For the first time in decades, Viola Whitfoot, Commander of the Shire, was at loss what to do.

Right now, she commander her men to gather as much food as they could, find a carriage and several ponies. Another had been appointed as messenger, and as he had been preparing for the quick ride to Hobbiton to notify the rest of the Assembly of the need to meet dwarven representatives, Viola quickly composed herself.

She stood proud in the face of dwarven King, throwing the old wrongs into his face, but part of her felt compassion to the dwarf.

Every hobbit knew, if not from experience, what it was like to find oneself displaced and homeless.

Still, the outrage at the dwarf not even knowing what she was talking about when she mentioned the previous meeting between their races had been overwhelming. The tale of Bowman the Shapeshifter, who abandoned his childhood games, so he could lead his people to new home, had been told from parents to their children, and parts of it had been used to open every Assembly meeting, to make the Representatives remember that the needs of few mustn't overrule the needs of many.

She told the King to bring descendants of the only two dwarves, who were worth of remembering and mentioning in the Memories, Ragri and Bolbari. Those, if still alive, might be more knowledgeable.

Sighing, she rushed to follow after the dwarves, to see where exactly they went. If any of them had any suspicion of being followed, none of them showed it the entire time they were in the forest.

The next day, Viola had been hiding at the edge of the forest; her patrols surrounding the place just in case the dwarves decided to do something… unwise. Then the dwarves appeared, with the first light; the King, the robust dwarf with mohawk of all possible hairstyles from the day before, another dwarf with grey hair and beard, three guards from the looks of it, and…

And three other dwarves; two with brown hair, and one with silvery white hair, all of them looking slightly nervous to picked out of the whole dwarven population all of sudden.

She stepped from her hiding place. "Thorin son of Thrain," she gave the King a small bow; low enough to be respectful, yet not low enough to be viewed as humble. Then her eyes settled on the three dwarves. They had eyes of radiant brown colour, shade like no other, described in Memories countless of times.

In several quick steps, she was standing before the youngest of them, offering a bow deeper than the one she gave the King, ignoring the way he bristled at that. "You must be descendants of Ragri and Bolbari," she spoke. "Welcome to the Shire."

She quickly returned to business, if only not to make any further interaction more difficult by what could be seen as a sign of disrespect, quickly pointing them to the ponies waiting just behind the bushes she stepped out of, explaining that the saddle bags hold food for the travel. One of the dwarves angrily started that they wouldn't eat while their people go hungry, only to have Viola roll her eyes at them.

"I'll have you know that here in Shire we feed our guests – uninvited and unwelcome as they might be," she said drily, whistling the signal for her men to move the carriage where the dwarves could see it. All of them spent half a night by running around the forest, hunting for as much wild game as possible, gathering everything edible in reach, so they could bring it to the dwarves nearby. Two of her men, Dudo and Malo, were picked to help with the cooking, as well as instructing the dwarves what is edible and what is not, should it come to needing more.

For a moment Viola wondered, whether it would actually be possible to _not_ argue with the dwarves at least once – as soon as she told the three guards that they are to remain here and escort her men to their encampment they immediately started to protest.

Sweet mother Yavanna, it certainly made sense that nearly no one bothered to deal with dwarves.

**-o.O.o-**

Ori himself had been quite surprised by the awe he could see in the eyes of those… hobbits, as they looked at him and his brothers. He never felt like anything special – just a scribe apprentice, a troublemaker, and owner of a small teashop; born from a line started at wrong side of sheets of a prince and a commoner. Nobody ever gave them a second glance, while now, they were suddenly asked by their family line, and obviously, they were to be paid great respect.

At least, if the King and the hobbit woman would reach an agreement.

Ori understood what the woman was after – after all, who would let a group of armed strangers into their land? King Thorin, however, decided that he just wanted to create problems for himself, much to the frustration of the hobbits.

"If I may suggest," Balin finally interrupted the growing argument, "I would follow on what the good woman," he made a sweeping gesture to the woman, "suggests and departed without the guards. After all, someone really needs to make sure our people understand correctly what is the intention of our hosts, and that we are not, In fact, kidnapped."

Finally a voice of reason.

They finally made their way into the Shire, the hobbits surrounding them as they rode through the forest and the small hills. The leader of their escort finally got to introduce herself as well. "Viola Whitfoot," was what she said when Ori asked her about her name. Ori was interested in hearing more of this land of hobbits, and Miss Viola showed to be quite willing to indulge his curiosity, her voice fervent and enthusiastic when she spoke of her homeland.

But then she closed off, when she mentioned the long standing friendship between hobbits and elves, and the dwarves made their opinion of such matters known.

"You would do well not to insult our friends, Thorin Oakenshield, if you wish to find new home here," Viola hissed, her eyes shooting lighting, and from that moment on, the whole group continued in tense silence.

**-o.O.o-**

Dwalin and Balin were unsure of what exactly they had been expecting from this Assembly their guide mentioned several times already, but both of them had been positive that this was something they most certainly didn't expect.

First, the hobbits obviously built their home, and their halls in the soil; unlike Men, who tended to build houses, and Elves, who would build tall structured of wood and stone, or Dwarves, who would build their halls in the mountains.

Second, to dwarves, the Assembly rang of people who were old enough to earn the wisdom that would grant them such a high rank. Yet looking at this Assembly, apart from the one they called Thain, the rest of them looked too young to be a part of something so important, and Thorin with his foot-in-mouth attitude sure didn't help the matters, when he voiced that sentiment and sent the Assembly sputter in indignation.

Apart from the Thain himself, there had been six other hobbits – their guide, Viola Whitfoot, one of them. While the rest of them had been seated at the round table in the centre of the big room and served some refreshments, she sat on the windowsill, appearing to not pay much attention on what is being discussed at the table but Dwalin could recognize the alert stance she tried to hide.

The hobbits introduced themselves. So, there had been the Thain himself – Fortinbras Took. Then there had been Steward – Everard Oldbuck; if Dwalin understood it right, it was Steward's job to make sure everyone behaved, and it was he who had the power to stop any meeting, if he were of opinion that things are getting out of hand and everyone needs to calm down. Mayor of Michel Delving, Minto Fairbarn, seemed to have his mouth stuck in permanent smirk. Master of Buckland, Polo Rumble, was a sombre looking hobbit, whose face gave nothing away. Deshyr of Westfarthing, Togo Brockhouse just glared at everything and everyone. Baggins of Bag End, Bilbo Baggins, as he introduced himself, looked at them with a strange mix of indignation and sympathy, and when he (obviously) thought no one is paying attention to him, he exchanged a long look with last member of the Assembly, Commander Viola Whitfoot.

The Steward, Everard Oldbuck, started the whole meeting with a soft tap on the table. "If I understood Commander's report correctly, you are here to attempt to make a treaty with us, Thorin Oakenshield?"

"That I am," Thorin nodded. Balin by his side immediately rushed to speak, all too much aware of how easily Thorin could slip and offend everyone without even meaning to do so. He quickly outlined what the dwarves were after (a place to live and make their home out of) and what they were offering (various crafts, as well as number of able bodied dwarves who could strengthen the defences of the Shire).

The hobbits were all quiet for a moment, before the Mayor spoke: "So… dwarves lost their home, eh? Funny how those tables turn, wouldn't you say?"

"That is no laughing matter, Minto," exploded Bilbo. "They lost their home just like we did all those centuries ago – would you call _that_ funny?"

"Of course not – but at the same time, it was them who refused us any assistance. Why should we open our homes to them now? We do not need them," joined Togo the opposition, and Polo nodded his agreement.

"I believe it should not be forgotten that there are at least three people here, who are proof of that statement not being completely truthful," interjected Everard, nodding his head to the three young dwarves, who once again seemed rather nervous under the scrutiny.

"Then I say we let these three and possibly their relatives stay and tell the rest to go on their merry way," snapped Polo stubbornly. "It would be only fair, since there were only _two_ dwarves willing to even speak with us, while the rest of that kingdom, starting with its _King_ and ending with the lowest of them, was unwilling to even _look_ at us!"

"I can't believe you are actually saying that!" Bilbo seemed to be really angry at his fellow hobbits. "I really thought us hobbits better than to hold such silly grudges!"

"_Silly grudges_?!"

The hobbits started to argue among themselves in language the dwarves didn't understand – but given the increasing volume of their voices, it certainly was a very heated argument. When it looked like the Steward would have to stop the meeting, Bilbo shot a look to the only hobbit not sitting by the table, mouthed something and Viola spoke from her place at the windowsill, effectively stopping everyone, as they snapped their heads in her direction.

The silence that descended at the whole room seemed deafening for a second, before the arguing started again, this time with red faced Viola joining in, as she fiercely argued about something, pointing her finger in the direction of the hobbit she was arguing with.

Steward interrupted the fight with what sounded like a suggestion and everyone surprisingly calmed down. He asked something, and three hands immediately shot up – Polo's, Minto's and Togo's. Then he asked another question, and Viola's, Bilbo's and most surprisingly, Fortinbras' hands went up, making the Steward blink in surprise.

Viola left her place by the window and went to lean her side against Bilbo's chair, crossing her arms on her chest. Steward spoke again, only to be interrupted by Polo, who in turn got hissed at by Viola. In reaction to that, Togo and Bilbo snapped at each other, before Fortinbras signalled he would like to have word.

He spoke surprisingly calmly, given the high level of emotions running all around the table – agitation and nervousness on the dwarven side, and anger together with outrage on the other side. When he finished speaking, the others were left gaping, before Minto, with his ever present smirk sniped something at Viola, who immediately rose to the bait and snapped something as a reply to that, falling silent only after Bilbo laid his hand on her forearm.

"If it would be allowed by the rest of the Assembly, I believe our _guests_," he stressed the word, "should be made aware of what we decided here somewhere peaceful."

"You are, of course, right," agreed Fortinbras smoothly, with a single glare silencing everyone who would dare to voice a disagreement with him. "I suggest taking them to Bag End, where you can discuss it with them."

Bilbo rose from his place, Viola right behind him. "If you would follow us," Bilbo spoke, the dwarves raising from their places, eager to finally learn what exactly had been discussed through the meeting.

The hobbits led them up the street, to the highest hill in the area it seemed, to one of those underground homes. This one had a particularly vivid green circle doors, and upon entering, it looked to be much bigger than outside look of it would suggest. Bilbo immediately let everyone in the central room of his house ("we call our homes smials"), offering them a seat and rushing to get some refreshments, while Viola paced by the window, the careful mask of indifference she showed during the trip to this town a thing of past.

Bilbo returned, and as soon as he served everyone a cup of tea (something especially Dori appreciated) and laid down a big plate of cookies, he went to Viola, laying a calming hand on her shoulder, as he quietly spoke to her. She took a deep breath and nodded, and went to sit next to him. Sipping of his tea, Bilbo spoke.

And weren't the dwarves surprised at what he told them.

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**A/N:** I know In the words of profound wisdom, leaving the ending in cliffhanger is bad. The next chapter will be mostly this but from the opposite point of view, so get ready, I will be uploading it in a few days.


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